The Westwood garage rolled its doors down one last time. Joyce watched as Mark gave the keys to the new property manager, and shook hands. Joyce didn’t miss the way Mark’s hand linger in the air afterward, or the way he looked about the neighborhood pretending to hear something down the road. She turned toward the line of trucks before he saw her noticing.

  “Guess I’ll see you at the base then,” Mark said.

  “Hm? Not riding with Daiko and me?”

  He scratched his head, “Change of plans. Val hasn’t sent me her routine ‘snooze’ text. Which means she isn’t awake yet. I’ll extract her from bed and we’ll catch a cab.”

  Joyce thought to herself on the ways things in life had a tendency to change, while others were destined to remain the same forever.

  “I’ll tell the boss you’re en route.”

  “Thanks.”

  They stood together, watching the motorcade fill up the narrow street: two security vehicles blocking traffic, four cycles, a storage van, two armored transports, and—centerpiece of it all—a military flatbed hauling the meck’s holding pod. The claw arm settled the rhombus-shaped container into place while crews scrambled over it, locking everything down.

  Watching, delaying departure from his once-family business, Mark said, “I’m surprised Daiko didn’t demand driving the pod to the base himself.”

  “He considered it but we sold our own truck last month…”

  “Yeah, guess we did.”

  “And besides,” she glanced at him, “he figured this was the one thing the government could handle.”

  That brought him a laugh. “I bet he’s sweating, thinking about all these hands on his work. You know, I don’t even know the codes to get inside.”

  “He didn’t give them to me either, but you’re the one he’s going to sweat if you’re late. Go get Val. We’ll meet you there.”

  “Right.” He said, still lingering, “down with the ship, eh?”

  “You’re catching a new one, Mark. We all are.” She hugged him, and that seemed to do the trick.

  As he left, the leader of their motorcade approached. “All ready, ma’am.”

  Joyce nodded. They didn’t ask her to check their work, and she didn’t ask for permission. She completed two laps around the truck, scanning clamps and cross-checking manifests. Only then did she slide into the security car and signal departure. They were well prepared, and everything was ready but she doubted that would assuage the big man.

  Daiko looked small as the motorcade halted a few miles later. He carried only one withered duffle, slung over his shoulder by a knotted rope. His last name, barely legible in scarlet print, looked like dried and cracked blood—faded like the man himself.

  How could someone so important, fit his life into the same bag he’d left home with at fifteen years old?

  Daiko handed the chauffeur his bag reluctantly, then joined Joyce in the back seat. Unlike Mark, he didn’t glance back at the place he’d owned since retirement. Instead, his gaze bore into the windshield like roots through stone.

  Joyce wanted to comfort him, nearly reached for his hand on the seat between them, but the driver returned from loading the luggage in the trunk and the moment dissolved.

  Knowing his mood wouldn’t shift easily, she pulled the manifests out. He gave a flicker of curiosity, then took them as if it had been his duty all along.

  Under the guise of helping him review the paperwork she took a closer look at the man. This close, she could see the years of life chiseled into his oaken face. And as he turned toward her, could feel his attention like sunlight.

  Perhaps another life…

  “It’s the wrong time,” Daiko said.

  Joyce met his gaze, brain racing beneath her still expression.

  “Hm?”

  He lifted the manifest, “when we get to Jupiter, they’ll operate off J.S.T. We’ll want to make sure we provide those time stamps on the manifest before boarding.”

  She blinked, heart steadying. “Of course,” she said, “I can have that done before we arrive.”

  He nodded again and turned away, looking out the window.

  “You’ve been a ghost this week,” She said as she made the changes.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, “You know me by now. When I’m working on something new I can barely sleep let alone socialize. And I get mean sometimes.”

  She nodded, knowing he was looking at her. “Just moody.”

  “If you say so.”

  He leaned back in his seat, a shade more relaxed.

  If Mark was Daiko’s right hand, Joyce was all ten clever fingers. She could read him better than anyone— which is why she knew something was off, perhaps besides the obvious.

  “You’re not regretful, are you?” He asked, surprising her with the question. “For deciding to come?”

  She sighed, flooded with memories as the Tosamir skyline rose around them. The city had always been enormous, and still it grew. In a blink—that traitorous morsel of time—her old neighborhood was gone, replaced by condominiums, fragile glass towers, and endless highways arcing over and under the capital, burying the past beneath the thriving present.

  “When Ken died, I never thought about the future.” She recalled her husband's handsome chin, the way she liked to grab it firmly with one hand when they kissed, the bittersweet memory of their bickering over small things now a melody she’d replay again and again like a music box…

  “It feels like a lifetime and a day ago, doesn’t it?” Daiko said, drawing her from her reverie.

  “Mhm. And sometimes like it’s happening right now, and sometimes like it never happened at all.” She turned back to the window, thoughtful. “No, I’m not regretful. My family moved away a long time ago, and I never regretted staying after they left. Now my new family is leaving, and,” she smiled faintly, “I’m feeling young and adventurous all over again.”

  They moved on to small and deep things for the next hour, a quiet alchemy binding them. When they arrived, it took effort for Joyce to step out of the vehicle.

  It was the first time She’d been to the base. Until now, she’d only seen maps and photos. The base spread wide around an enormous central building, obtrusive against the nearly empty tarmac.

  “Not a very creative space, is it?” Daiko said beside her, hoisting his bag on his shoulder.

  “No, it’s not. Strange they haven’t rolled out the welcome mat for you.”

  Their motorcade was oddly unattended for the future Arcomeckanist. Then a transport rumbled toward them, pulling up with a screech as security exchanged words. A new guard approached, frowning at them, likely because they were supposed to all arrive around the same time.

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  Joyce filled him in before he could ask. “The others will be here but right on time, I suspect.”

  The man seemed only slightly placated. “I’ll take the two of you to the loading bay then.”

  “And our cargo?” Daiko asked, nodding at the skiff where the meck pod was strapped in.

  He looked at Daiko a moment too long, eyes going a fraction wider than was proper. “To the rear bay for a security sweep, Mons Hitori. We’ll load it onto the shuttle after that.”

  Joyce could see the argument forming on Daiko’s lips, there was no way he’d be giving anyone the codes to the pod.

  “Well, I’ll be going on ahead with this fine gentleman, Daiko. You go around back.” Joyce said to Daiko.

  “Ma’am,” the guard said, “you’ll both need to use the civilian transport.” The guard hesitated, eyes flicking to Daiko, who now wore a satisfied grin.

  “The paperwork clearly states that the passengers must take the—”

  “You’re talking about the orange form, right?” Joyce cut in. “It opts us into the search but it doesn’t say we can’t be there for it.”

  “Ma’am—”

  “Lad, you heard the woman.” Daikoi reopened the car door and tossed his bag inside. “Now let’s go.”

  He winked at her, then settled back as though he’d ordered the whole motorcade like a taxi.

  “He’ll be fine,” she told the guard. Shouldering her bag and clutching her stack of intake forms—because of course she’d brought extra copies—she added, “Now, I believe the ship captain is waiting for us.”

  The motorcade crawled toward the back of the building while the transport she was in skated across the tarmac. It took all of sixty seconds to reassess the distance between the base entrance and the building at its center. They seemed to be approaching slowly like a lethargic sunrise, and she decided it was much larger than she initially thought.

  They reached a short security building with a gate of blue light obstructing their path. Two soldiers stood in full kits as if the Geos horde might be near. They scrutinized her, but waved the driver through.

  They arrived a few minutes later and Joyce stepped out, instinctively tilting her head upward to look at the huge building. She was caught up in a wave of nausea almost instantly, and stumbled but a steadying hand caught her arm.

  “Around here we say don’t look up,” the man withdrew his oil-stained hand as quickly as it appeared. “Are you Joyce?”

  Joyce fought the urge to see if he’d left a smudge on the sleeve of her shirt. He was a short man, old but perhaps a wash would clean 20 years off him. His face was tanned, and basset hound drawn eyes stared at her unhurried.

  “Kit? I mean, Captain Kit?”

  “Mhm, glad to see you made it,” he watched the transport turn back toward the gate. “Not the only one coming along are you?”

  “The crew will be arriving intermittently,” she said.

  “No problem for me. Easier to onboard you so then you can onboard the rest for me.” He looked past her at the man with her luggage. “Don’t get comfortable, Ron. The rest will be here soon.”

  Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought Ron dropped her luggage on the skiff a little harder than necessary.

  “Right,” Joyce said, “Onboarding, right? Lead on, Captain.”

  He guided her inside where once again she was nearly overcome with that feeling of dizzying enormity. The building was a gargantuan warehouse with two exits the size of, well, space ships. Shuttles of varying sizes, the largest of which reached nearly to the ceiling, split the path leading through the building. There was a perpetual heat mirage coating the upper half of the space as gas and hot air contorted light.

  “That’s us now,” he pointed to a shuttle that looked like an ancient rail engine being towed to the center of the track. “Your cargo is out back. Once it gets swept, we’ll get you all loaded.” He looked at his watch, “We’re estimating 45 minutes till take off.”

  “That should be fine,” Joyce said a silent prayer to herself. “Captain, are we the only ones on board this flight? I noticed our manifest isn’t available on the public network.”

  Kit’s brow furrowed so she explained, “I mean—the Razorback is much larger than the civilian vessels I’ve seen.”

  Truthfully, she only knew the class, not the designation. Every staff member she’d asked so far had refused to say. The Captain looked upward as though he could see through the blue sky to his ship beyond.

  “That’s ’cause the Razorback’s part of the Royal Interplanetary Trading Expressar. We call it RITEs, and cargo’s all those precious resources from Mercury and Venus mostly.”

  Joyce blinked, surprised at the immediate answer but it only furthered her suspicion because RITEs vessels weren’t military.

  “I assumed we weren’t going straight to Jupiter, but is it common for the Navy to employ trade freighters like yours?”

  “It happens sometimes. Don’t matter much to me what we haul. As for stops—we’ll be making contact with the freighter off Luna, then one more stop on Phobos before off to Alma Prime.”

  Joyce imagined a shipping lane, like boats on the ocean, traveling around the system.

  “So no other human travelers except us?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I got my navcom techs and some mechanics tapping the engine now and then. Crew’s in space 10 months a year, but we still consider ourselves human.” He smiled like he’d told a joke, “Y’all will be the only ones taking a cryo nap though. Oh, and Ron’s coming too. He’s my copilot.”

  “Two pilots?” Joyce said. “That’s it?”

  “Junkers don’t need more than a push these days. Navs are preprogrammed and locked in by Control. My team just checks in every few hours.”

  He thumbed through a withered notepad attached by a string to his belt, not noticing or not caring to address the concern on her face.

  “Speaking of cryo, this here’s the serious business. Your people will be tested to ensure they’ve kept up with their supplements. Nothing we can do now if they haven’t but you’d save all of us time if you’d just tell me who hasn’t been up to date.”

  “We’re all set, Captain,” Joyce bit the inside of her cheek but otherwise kept a straight face. Kit didn’t seem to believe her.

  “We’ll see. If not, there’s always something needing mopping on a ship this big. They can sleep with the rest of the crew, one night at a time; though half of ‘em speak a mix of Asparian and Martian. Not that I mind but it sounds a slop. I wish they’d just choose one.”

  Licking his fingers, he turned the page.

  “The trip’s six months, but the clock doesn’t start till we leave Luna’s dockyards, which is about the time we put you on ice. Now, you’ve got a special issue from the high office to keep your cargo secure. Means my boys and Mars customs can’t touch it.”

  “Correct. There was an option to receive additional security during that inspection. I think we indicated that.”

  He nodded, flipping to the next page.

  “Sure but just so you know, additional security really just means an extra seatbelt. Don’t want you getting the wrong idea when you wake up.”

  “Thanks… Anything else?”

  “Yeah, says here you’ve all got special citizenship. What that gets you on Jupiter is your business. Once you’re off my ship, it means nothing to me. I don’t take letters home if someone regrets their choice and definitely don’t take the person.”

  “Okay. Does that happen a lot?”

  “More than you think. There’s always one who tries to stow away on the return. Can’t blame ’em. Alma Prime ain’t like the pictures. Better in some ways, worse in others.”

  “Noted.”

  He looked up from the notepad. A small dot was approaching from the base entrance, but Kit waited calmly. Joyce filled the time studying the rows of ships.

  “Are there a lot of civilian ships in orbit right now?”

  “I don’t know what ‘a lot’ means for you, but the skies never used to be this busy. How the hell is there traffic in space? Means we’re doing something wrong if you ask me. Anyway, they say we’ll move fifty thousand by the end of the cycle.”

  “That many?” She looked up at the sky, “Do we have enough ships for that?”

  “Finding room ain't the issue. You don’t take up too much room when you’re frozen and standing still. But that’s not my job, though, not my ship either.” He nodded toward a row of clean, white vessels. “Those are the colony shuttles. All neat and organized, stacked wall to ceiling with cry pods like a honeycomb.”

  Joyce’s mind spun with numbers—so many people in those ships, and millions of tons of raw material in the freighters. What was this costing the empire? Was every shipment worth the fuel to carry it across the system? It must, she decided quickly. Everyone knew that besides the meck, Asparia’s might rested on its stranglehold of space, and control of every off-world transport. They regulated it all.

  She waited as their shuttle was towed forward. When the transport carrying the Westwood crew rolled through the gate, she prayed every seat was filled.

  The shuttle hissed to a stop beside her. A door opened to one side and a ramp unfolded, two men stood outlined in the glare.

  “Not you two,” Joyce said.

  Alexi and Suraj strutted down the ramp, one after the other—the latter’s size wouldn’t allow side by side.

  “What a dance we’ve had, Joyce.” Alexi said.

  “What are you—” She caught herself, head sagging. “You’re the escort in the contract…”

  Alexi clapped Suraj’s shoulder, “You expected someone else?”

  “Anyone else, actually.”

  “Ah, you only feel that way because we haven’t been properly introduced,” Alexi said.

  “Do we have to?”

  “You do.” Suraj said.

  Alexi continued, cutting off Suraj before he could say more.

  “We’ll need to conduct your special citizen review before cryo. Just a standard assessment.”

  She wondered if Alexi was this eager about every assessment, or if it was just his personality.

  “Fine. Me, or the whole crew?”

  “Everyone.” Suraj said.

  “Just consider us a part of the crew from here on out.”

  Joyce tried to hide her amusement. “You’re going to interrogate the crew huh?”

  “Interview,” Suraj corrected.

  Just then the transport screeched to a halt. The doors swung open and Snake came tumbling out, landing flat on his face, Roman’s foot stretched into the air before him.

  “Take your sweet time,” Roman said.

  “Easy!” Cenn yelled, hauling Roman toward her by the collar. “We’re on a military base—don’t get us thrown out.”

  He attempted to shrug out of her grip but tripped in the process, dragging her down the steps along with him, and landing atop of Snake in a heap.

  As they groaned and argued, Val walked down the steps, whistling, and took a delicate, albeit firm, step on the pile of bodies before landing lightly on the ground.

  “Keep it together!” Arthur cried.

  Joyce looked back at Suraj and Alexi, no longer bothering to hide her grin.

  “So,” she asked, “who do you want to start with?”

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